


Ballad for a Hero

by holyroller



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Siren!Rhys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyroller/pseuds/holyroller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As far as redemption goes, he sure as hell didn't deserve any of it," she glares at the ground, almost in disbelief that the reason she's currently surrounded by her sister and friends is that she was saved by the same person who'd tried to kill every single one of them, twice.</p><p>"But," Rhys interjects, "there's always a but."</p><p>Fiona sighs and shuts her eyes as she nods in defeat, "Handsome Jack died a hero."</p><p>[AU where Jack didn't die in the Vault of the Warrior. A redemption arc.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ballad for a Hero

**Author's Note:**

> there's a lot going on here but i'll try and explain things as i go along. the tags for this will also probably be updated as i go along. also listen i love jack. this is the only way i can see him being redeemed bc really he deserves none. 
> 
> un-beta'd and do let me know if anything sounds weird.
> 
> thank you in advance for reading.

He can't see anymore, but he's still breathing. A faint hint of life tugs at his lungs. It hurts to breathe but he trudges on, lying in a pool of his own blood. He can smell it through the overpowering smell of ash and smoke coming from the vault itself. He can't think straight and his mind presents him with a series of images. Some good, some bad. His fingers twitch as his consciousness starts to fade.

There's a pain in his left side that's enough to jut him away from the darkness. He feels hot air on his face, movement. There was one other person who knew he'd found the vault. He tries to say her name. His mouth doesn't process the word. He doesn't know when he blacks out.

His eyes open and he stares into a bright light for a split second before shutting them again. He opens them a few more times before they adjust to the light. He's in a cave of some sort that's dim save for the light above him and in two other places. It's damp and smells of rotten wood. The heat clings to his skin and the memories of what had happened rush back to him. They try and weigh in on him, he doesn't let them.

He tries to sit up and groans at the pain shooting up his left side. His body gives in and slumps back down. If he ever found those vault hunters he'd kill them with his bare hands.

He hears the clicking of heels and a sense of urgency rushes over him. Why had he been brought here? He tries to say her name, his unused voice manages a hoarse whisper.

"He's awake," that's not her voice. Fear begins creeping up his spine. His arms are bare and he can't reach the weapon he has concealed at his ankle.

He turns to see a series of shadowy hooded figures huddled around a computer screen.

"What is this?" he finds his voice, "You jawas get lost on the way to the desert planet?"

He groans again as he forces himself into a sitting position. He looks down at his ankle, preparing himself to grab the small pistol he has strapped to his leg.

The hooded figures ignore him. He frowns, ignoring the pain from the vault scar.

"Hello? Anyone there? I thought I wasn't alone here, my mistake," he tries lowering himself from the makeshift bed as he conspicuously reaches for the weapon. It doesn't work very well and the figures turn to him in the time it takes him to unstrap the weapon. He doesn't ask questions.

Precisely aimed shots and a calm demeanor have him limping towards the computer screen. It's in a language he can't read. He clicks around various files and finds his name in one of them. It's before a series of unintelligible paragraphs and some charts. Were they testing him?

He turns back to the makeshift bed and considers finding a way to set everything on fire. He limps back and takes his mask from the ground and decides against it. Best not to destroy a place you don't know any exit to with fire.

He knocks the computer over before making his way to the light source coming from what seems to be a hallway. The area is quiet and the only sound he hears for nearly two hours is the click of when he'd put on the mask and the sound of his own footsteps.

Despite having to stop every few minutes to catch his breath to calm the raging pain in his side and the aches from the scar he finds an exit. He makes quick work of the two men standing guard and starts making his way down the rocky terrain. He sporadically turns back, feeling like something's watching him.

He makes it as far as a small town that's seemingly abandoned. Never one to beat around the bush, he stands his ground at the town's centre.

"Hey! Anyone around, there's a huge reward out for someone who can bring me a working echo device!"

He waits for nearly three minutes and doesn't receive a response. He tries again, "I know there's someone out there! I'm talking triple digits!"

Nothing.

He stares forward for a few moments before a figure in the distance emerges from one of the cabins.

"Hey!" he waves, he doesn't want the person to see him limp, "you know who I am?! I can make you rich!"

The figure stares at him but doesn't move.

"I know you can hear me! Stop being a jackass and get over here!" he yells. The figure takes a step forward.

He huffs and clutches his side, a familiar sense of excitement rising up in his stomach has numbed the pain but the pressure helps alleviate it further.

The person begins approaching him and he makes out the shape of a young man. His inner voice begins scolding him as he raises the gun in his hands. The man was wearing the same hooded robe as the figures from before but with the hood down.

"I'll cut you a deal, come with me and I'll forgive whatever the hell has happened here. I won't ask, and on top of that I'll make you rich."

The man, seemingly a raider, gives him a lopsided grin. Oh shit, he thinks, a fucking bandit. He pulls the trigger. It clicks but no bullet comes out. He repeatedly pulls on the trigger and nothing happens, no ammo. He mutters a curse as the man in the hood starts laughing.

“I know who you are, Jack!” the man yells. He takes a final step forward before he begins circling, “I also know you can’t move out of fear that I’ll know you’re injured!”

Jack glares forward and the man takes a step back, continuing, “Do you think it was coincidence that you ran out of ammunition? Do you think we didn’t expect you to try and find a way out?”

Despite the searing pain in his left side Jack takes a firm step forward and takes a hold of the man’s collar with both hands, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but if you know the first thing about me, you’ll know Handsome Jack doesn’t play,”

“That’s the problem,” the man gives Jack what appears to be an apologetic smile before shoving Jack away, his hands connecting with Jack’s injured side. Jack falls back onto the ground, the pain searing up his back and nearly clouding his vision.

The man slides his hood above his head before looking down at Jack, “I do play, Jack. And you don’t have a say in whether you’re in or not.”

Jack feels more hits to his side before his vision blacks out again.

When he regains consciousness he smells the familiar scent of rotten wood and feels his legs drag against the dirt ground. The pain in his left hide has yet to subside and he lifts his head to find a series of figures dragging him along a hallway. He can only see out of one eye and it enrages him. His mask had to have been taken off, it didn’t just come off on its own. He tries to fight the grip they have on his arms, but the searing pain from the wound on the left side of his chest makes it impossible. He feels himself be thrown into a cell, complete with the creaking old metal door.

He’s shoved against the wall and a cuff goes around each of his wrists. He slumps down onto the ground in an awkward position as the gate clicks again. He’s focusing on anything but the pain. Once the footsteps fade he breathes out. It feels like the assassin’s sword just pierced through him again. 

He manages to find his balance when he hears approaching footsteps again. He pulls against the chains and grunts again. The footsteps get closer and he looks up to find the same man from earlier.

“Hello,” he grins and waves.

Jack glares with his good eye.

The man steps in, “I know we got off to a bad start back there, I want to clear the air up a bit. I know who you are, grand corporate giant, Handsome Jack and all that, but for the sake of simplicity you can call me Julian.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Jack spits.

“That’s fine,” Julian takes a few more steps forward, stepping into Jack’s immediate proximity, “I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s been a long time, Jack. A long time.” He takes a step forward and presses his hand directly against Jack’s wound.

Jack grits his teeth and keeps his grunts of pain to a minimum.

“Such strong character,” Julian takes a step back, “but that’s fine. Just means we’ll get to play longer.”

He slips a small piece of eridium into one of Jack’s shirt pockets, “for your troubles.”

Jack turns away from the man in an attempt to bring his face farther from the eriduim. It was an after effect from the vault of the Sentinel that he found out about when he went down to visit the eridium mine deal one of his underlings had arranged. The scar reacted to eridium the same way a siren did. It felt like the scar was set on fire when it reacted. He had special coatings put on the mask so that it wouldn’t affect him when he wore it, but without it, it was burning like mad.

He takes a moment to let his eye adjust to the darkness that comes as soon as the man exits the dungeon-like place they’ve forced him into. For the moment he just wishes he had his hands free to get the eridium away from his person or to claw his face off. Either would work.

Eventually the pain numbs his entire face and he stares into the absolute darkness. There’s an empty feeling that sets in his chest, the realization that everyone will think he’s dead. No one will know and no one will come.

His confidence begins to fade as the restraints begin to chafe his wrists. The pain in his side stings as he moves and the absolute silence begins to ring in his ears. The dampness of the dungeon causes beads of sweat to form around his hairline, and almost suddenly, it feels like he's trapped in a box. He lets out a combination of a laugh and a choked sob.

  


* * *

  


There’s a flicker of light outside the caravan windshield and she’s sure it’s Sasha tinkering with some part of the vehicle. And ordinarily, Fiona has no problem with it, however it’s the middle of the night and Sasha’s random late night impulsiveness could result in the loss of a working vehicle. With a slight grunt she forces herself off of the makeshift cot she had made herself and with half-lidded eyes she steps out of the caravan.

“Sash,” she whispers hoarsely, “Sash, now is not the time to-” she stops short at the sight of a series of hooded figures enter the little makeshift tent Rhys and Vaughn had set up for themselves near the caravan. 

She pulls her gun and quickly unclicks the safety as she approaches. They don’t notice her. She manages to approach the tent’s entrance and peers through. Vaughn is missing and one of the figures is holding a large cloth material over Rhys’ face as a few others hold him down. She gasps slightly and the figures turn to her as Rhys’s limbs go numb.

Her gun at the ready, she points it in various directions. The figures do not move.

She dares to take a step forward and jumps backwards at the sight of arms coming around her. An odd smelling cloth comes around her face and she doesn’t know how long she manages to keep conscious. 

When her eyes open again, Rhys is already awake. He’s calling for her as he’s dragged along a path beside her. The only light source seems to be coming from behind them and the two torches carried by two hooded figures in front of them. It gives the dungeon-like place an ominous glow.

“What the hell is going on?!” she yells as soon as she has the ability to speak again. Her limbs are slowly regaining strength and she tries to fight the arms dragging her along. She receives no reply.

“I thought these guys might have been after you?!” Rhys yells from beside her.

“Me? Do I look like the type of person who deals with weird cults?” she retorts.

“And Hyperion does?” he snaps back immediately.

“I don’t know!” 

They come to a stop outside of a cell and she shares a worried glance with Rhys before a figure steps forward through the rest. His hood is down.

“Hello, children!”

Rhys and Fiona share another look before the man bends forward and stares Rhys in the eye.

“My, my, someone’s been busy. I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me,” there’s anger in the man’s tone and Rhys’s eyes widen as he realizes the man is talking to the AI floating around in his head. Rhys looks around for the AI but it hasn’t appeared.

The man continues, “Don’t you worry, child,” he pats Rhys on his head, “this’ll all be over soon.”

“Sir,” a voice comes from the group of hooded figures, “what of the girl?”

“Keep her, for now. Do what you want with her, we don’t need her. We need the boy until we can extract what’s floating around in his head. After that, kill them both, if he’s not dead already.”

A unanimous hum comes from the remainder of the hooded figures as the man walks away with the two figures holding the torches. The light fades as the gate of the cell is opened and they’re both forcibly shoved in. She gets a face full of dirt and grunts as the rest of her body hits the ground. A clank is heard from behind them and the rustle of the figures walking away.

“Fiona?” she hears his voice in the absolute darkness. She looks down at her hands and panics when she can’t see them.

“Rhys?” she replies, trying to find a wall.

“Hold on,” she hears the tapping of fingers on metal and a dim blue light emerges from his robotic arm. He moves over to her and she takes a seat on the ground.

“What did they mean?” she asks as he sits beside her, “what did you do up on Hyperion?”

“I was middle management. Nothing special,” he replies as the AI appears beside her.

“Don’t tell her, kiddo” Jack waves a blue hand around.

“Well then why do they think you’ve got some super important plans or something in your head?”

Rhys looks forward, “I don’t know.”

She frowns, “there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Persistent!” Jack kneels in front of Rhys, “If you tell her and you two end up finding a way out, she’ll leave you here for dead. Don’t tell her, she’ll trust you even if she doubts you’re telling her everything.”

“I- I might have been involved in an old archiving system that had a lot on Handsome Jack,”

“God damnit, Rhys,” Jack crosses his arms and tries to kick Rhys fruitlessly, “well congrats, kiddo. You pretty much just signed off your death.”

“So you-” Fiona stops speaking as a huff is heard from behind them. They both look at each other in slight horror. Rhys’ attention is quickly drawn by the AI. It’s standing, staring into the darkness behind them almost the same way a dog reacts to sudden noise.

“Shine the light over there,” it whispers.

Rhys looks at Fiona again and the AI screams.

“Shine the light over there!” Jack’s voice is distorted by rage.

Rhys does so, his robotic arm still as his real arm shook. The light shines upon a man chained to the wall. 

“Oh shit,” the AI whispers before vanishing.

“Oh my god,” Fiona whispers as she tenses beside him.

Rhys sits frozen in his spot as he stares forward at the unconceivable sight. It couldn’t be. But it was. The man chained to the wall wore the same clothes and despite that his face was scarred beyond any real repair, it resembled the mask he used to wear. The vault branding, the pieces of eridium jutting from his skin, it had to be. Despite the longer hair, the malnourishment, and sign of facial hair, it was. Of that there was no doubt.

“Handsome Jack,” Rhys whispers, in shock.

“He’s been dead for six years. How is he alive?” Fiona whispers in reply. 

“I don't know,” Rhys continues to stare forward.

The man in question stirs. It’s almost embarrassing, Rhys thinks, as he only vaguely resembles the man he once presented himself as. 

“If they have the real thing why do they want you?” Fiona asks, her voice rising from a whisper to a soft tone.

“The Nakayama drive had an AI of him in it,” Rhys confesses before he realizes.

“And you put it in your head…that’s what’s floating in there? That’s what he meant?”

Rhys doesn’t respond. His eyes dart from the ground to what looks like Jack’s sleeping form. One of his eyes open. It blinks once. Twice. Three times.

“You’re not real,” there’s none of the cockiness, none of the sarcasm, and definitely none of the aggression in his tone. It sounds desperate, panicked, “thought you could break me, did ya?”

Handsome Jack shuts his eye again and turns his head as if in pain before looking back at them, “you’re not even close.”

Rhys and Fiona share a glance again before looking back to the man chained to the wall. Rhys looks around for the AI, it’s still gone.

“You know, now would be a real good time to weigh on what the hell is going on,” Rhys mutters. Fiona overhears and she glares in his direction.

“And were you going to tell us?”

“Uh?” Rhys looks back at Jack before looking down at his hands, “he told me not to?”

“And you were going to listen to a projection you had of a psychopathic murderer in your head?” she yells in disbelief.

“As opposed to a woman who’d tried to throw me out of the caravan?” Rhys spits back.

“I haven’t tried to murder an entire planet!”

Jack coughs from behind them and takes them away from the conversation.

“Should we, uh, try and free him?” Rhys asks.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask the version of him you have in your head?” Fiona crosses her arms and glares at Rhys.

“That’s the best idea she’s had all day,” the AI chooses this moment to appear in a rapid flicker next to Fiona, “I don’t think you should free- me. Don’t do it yet.”

“Why?” Rhys asks. 

“Because, this is me we’re talking about. And he-I- me? Anyway, not in the right state of mind. Knock some sense back into em’ and then we’ll talk,” it vanishes again. 

“What did he say?” Fiona’s glare intensifies.

Rhys looks away to answer her, “That we shouldn’t.”

Her anger fades slightly and she gives Rhys a look of disbelief, “really?”

“Yeah,” Rhys stands up from his spot and walks over to the man on the wall. Fiona watches him from her spot on the ground.

“Hey, Jack?” Rhys asks awkwardly. The man doesn’t make eye contact with him.

“Jack?” Rhys tries again. Still nothing. He frowns and leans forward to look at the man’s face. The giant vault scar, completely covering a destroyed eye, is complemented by a series of other scars. Burning, cutting, as well as bits of eridium that seem to have been implanted into the skin. Rhys had heard about what was under the mask, but he never imagined it was this bad.

That all coupled with his clothes seeming too large and heavy on his body, his hair no longer perfectly styled but hastily cut around his face, and a small beard that was also hastily cut, it painted a mess that was painful to look at. 

Rhys takes initiative and snaps his fingers near the man’s face, “Jack. Are you here with us?”

Jack blinks again and looks up at Rhys. A look of concern flashes over Rhys’ face for a moment before going back into one of confusion. 

“What happened to you?”

**Author's Note:**

> just to be clear, the line break did in fact signify a 6 year time lapse.


End file.
